


The First Time They Met

by WauryD



Series: Shiftings [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I am apparently unable to write anything without some angst in it, Reincarnation, a visit at the museum, mentions of sexuality but nothing explicit, mild language once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-10 19:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10445886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WauryD/pseuds/WauryD
Summary: Brienne's POV fromThe Last Time They Met.Brienne unexpectedly finds someone who, by all odds, should not be resonatingthatwell with her.





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> As stated in the summary, this is Brienne's POV from [_The Last Time They Met_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8688415/chapters/19918066), so reading this part beforehand will lead to spoilers/unexplained information.
> 
> [strayket](http://archiveofourown.org/users/strayket/pseuds/strayket) also translated this work in Russian, which you can find [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5830281)!

There was a weight over her legs when Brienne awoke, and she sighed as a large, white head flipped over the bunched-up covers to give her a blue look.

“You  _ know _ I’m going to have to wait until the pins and needles have died down!”

The Great Dane lapped at the air, taking her speaking as an invitation to come snuggle, almost crushing her mistress in the process. Once she was repositioned comfortably, encased by the fluffy duvet, they both listened to the sound of yet another rainy day against the bedroom window. 

“Maybe I’m not meant to ever,  _ ever _ tan,” she complained aloud. Her companion emitted a lazy  _ boof _ in reply. “Yeah, I know. I just burn. I might not be Targaryen after all.”

The Sunday newspaper was waiting when they returned from their wet run, and an ad for the history museum caught her eye between gulps of orange juice. Ms Tully  _ had _ notified her two weeks prior of small changes to the medieval exhibition, and Brienne had yet to go examine them. 

It would be better than staying inside all day, she mused. All the galleries were ridiculously familiar by now, and yet, she failed to suppress excitement at the thought of roaming through them. Every single time. As far as addictions went, it was not such a bad one.

The museum was uncommonly busy due to the weather, as parents desperately tried to entice their overactive children to seemingly static culture and history. She stopped to greet most of the staff she encountered: all were accustomed to the tall, intimidating lady who kept reassuring them with her smiles and soft speech that she was neither a threat to their employment, nor hard to please. 

The junior head of security, a serious, rosy-cheeked young guy by the name of Podrick, was always eager to report to her that all was well, despite her having none of the authority of the museum administration. “Miss! So great to see you again. I hope you’re well? I see that you’ve brought a package. Ms Tully will be very grateful, as always.” While she'd gathered that he knew of her lineage, he only ever mentioned her close work with the collection managers, and that alone had seemed to be enough to gain his undying deference.

Saluting a busy Pia quickly from the entrance of the café, she earned a beaming smile in return. “Drop by later, love? We’ve got lemon cakes almost ready!” 

She stopped by Arya, one of the security staff who never took her eyes off the patrons, and produced a USB key that the young lady took with a squeal, shoving it into her pocket. 

“I didn’t think you could do it,” she half-whispered. “ _ Winds of Winter _ won’t be out for  _ months _ ! How did you get an advance copy of that game?!”

“Held a guy at knifepoint,” Brienne said with serious, breaking into a grin when she earned a part-scandalized, part-impressed look from the young lady. “Badly rusted one, too.”

A candid, fiery-haired lady winked at her as she instructed a group of visitors about the museum’s policies. Ygritte did that to a lot of people, regardless of gender or body type or age, but nobody had ever been to tell whether it was a platonic thing or not.

Brienne left the documents she had brought for Ms Tully, the enthusiastic exhibit coordinator, at the administration desk. While it was usually her least favourite stop during the week, on Sundays it was manned by a witty older lady, Olenna. Always full of both sunny charm and acidic sarcasm, Brienne imagined it had come from dealing with imbeciles for a lifetime. As far as personality goals could go, that was certainly not a bad one. 

“Now,” the lady said with a bright smile, “should I be checking this for poison, miss?”

“Mrs Redwyne, you know very well that if I want someone gone, blades would come first on my list. Just before, ‘Using my name to cast them to the lowest levels of society’. I’ve told you this before.”

“Ah yes, you and your fascination with pointy things! You should consider putting poison  _ on _ the pointy things, though.”

“I’ll think about it,” Brienne promised. “That is such a charmingly Dornish idea!”

Nearly half an hour after her arrival, she finally managed to step into the galleries.

She quickly garnered the usual open-mouthed stares from children. Her pale, ridiculously freckled skin usually drew the most attention once they spotted her six-foot-three frame. Sometimes they made rude comments, and sometimes the parents chided them for it.

Nothing she wasn’t used to. Nothing a good glare and a scowl couldn’t put a frightened end to.

Her visits always went counter-chronologically, mostly. In a sort of soft masochism, she kept her favourite for the end, making her way from the Modern to the Antiquity sections, then to the Middle Ages for a bittersweet dessert.

Having contributed a large number of the artefacts that were on display in that exhibit, it always felt like revisiting old friends. She had tracked down and studied every piece before they had found their way to the museum, and she now observed them through the glass panes with fondness.

She made note of the newly added longsword that now accompanied the one she had brought from Dorne. The other was from Winterfell, Ms Tully had informed her, an interesting contrast between extreme weather conditions and how it had affected both cultures and designs. 

The reevaluation of a breastplate from Castlerock had also been mentioned, which was now estimated to be at least two decades older than previously thought. Brienne patiently read through the leaflet that explained the process of dating an object, despite not learning anything new, and studiously examined the plate. 

That was the extent of the modifications the exhibit coordinator had notified her of, and there would probably be further documentation on both the next time they met. Satisfied with the changes, she moved on to her favourite piece.

The painting was especially large, and dark. Two knights stood in the light, their blades shining almost as if they were on fire. Around them, an army of sinister foes advanced, some already felled, with no ally in sight.

It was a gloomy scene, but it held great memories for her. As a child, her parents had brought her to the museum with her younger brother Peter. The imposing frame had captivated her, and she had been fascinated to learn that one of the main characters - a woman, no less! - was distantly related to her.

A badass lady defying conventions of femininity still remembered by history. There was little more inspiring role model for an ugly girl facing a shallow world.

Her newfound love for history had grown from there, and while she had found the academic field to be particularly uninviting to her kind -  _ female _ \- she had managed to attain a remarkable expertise by her own means. Even as a Targaryen, she had been scorned by scholars who thought her too stupid to comprehend the complexity of medieval politics. While her father was from a lesser branch of the powerful house, he had still secured considerable wealth and weight in local politics, allowing Brienne never to worry over finances. She’d spent her time and resources acquiring didactically what the experts had refused to share.

Inspired by her relation to the Maid of Tarth of the painting, she had extensively researched her family’s history, specifically the women of her lineage, the results of which were now partly on display around her. Kingsland’s History Museum had the most reputed medieval collection in all of Westeros. 

And still, she always came back to that painting. Regardless of the number of visitors in the vicinity, sitting on that bench in front of it felt like home.

“Wishing for one of them to be your knight in shining armour?”

An amused voice startled her, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she turned to the sound with an annoyed frown. A golden-haired man stood there, looking absurdly confident for emitting such an idiotic comment. He seemed vaguely familiar. “Excuse me?”

She thought she saw a satisfying hint of internal cringing when he realized she wasn’t finding that amusing. True to the nature of men, however, he went on.

“I mean, they look so  _ chivalresque _ . Any woman would swoon over men like that, no?”

He looked very proud at the use of such an uncommon word, as if he had tried to impress her. That was almost cute. She turned back, shaking her head.

_ Almost _ cute. “Condescending  _ and _ sexist.  _ And _ , wrong.”

Brienne felt him move to her side, though he remained silent, expectant.

“The knight in blue is actually a woman,” she explained, unsure of why she bothered. People who looked, and  _ acted _ , like him were generally not quite inclined to listen to whatever she had to say.

Instead, she watched the blond man almost cock his head to the side, squinting at the painting. “How can you tell?”

She’d seen him earlier on her tour. He’d been annoying a gorgeous woman who was probably his girlfriend, visibly bored by their visit, and she had left in a huff. Brienne had caught him staring at her ugly figure a moment later. It had barely registered in her memory.

Pointing towards the frame, she answered. “The title is ‘The Maid of Tarth And The Lion Of Lannister’. It’s one of the centerpieces of the exhibition? It’s written right there?” The panel describing the piece was even lit to attract visitors’ attention.

Once again she caught him staring, this time at the hand she had outstretched to point. It was a bit weird to look at a finger and not at what it designated, and for a few seconds she was annoyed at how self-conscious it made her feel. 

She shifted, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath to ground herself again. Regardless of what people thought of her, of her looks especially, she knew her worth, and that was inalienable. No one could take it away or diminish it, and a critic’s own appearance changed nothing to that.

The bullying voices never quite went away. Occasionally, she still had to drown them with her own, stronger, positive.

She returned her attention to the painting, only briefly.

“Sorry. It’s just, you look... peculiar.” He sounded genuinely contrived but also... curious, somehow. Did he imagine there was some special reason for her to look that way, other than freak genetics?

“Mmmmm.” Surely he had seen an ugly woman before. They must all pale in comparison to his girlfriend. “Do I? Never noticed before.” His statement was so ridiculous, Brienne was amused despite herself.

Her thoughts returned to the artwork. They had never found any image of the protagonists’ faces uncovered, so she’d never know what either of them looked like. The Maid had been called “The Beauty”, which made her a little sad. Though she felt kinship to her, that was something Brienne knew she’d never attain.

“Do you think they won?” Surprisingly, the golden-haired man had remained, still observing the piece just as she had been. He gave her an almost sheepish look. “Unless it’s all written there and I’m an idiot for wondering.”

_ Perhaps _ he was an idiot, but he did get points for apparently becoming self-aware. 

“She did,” Brienne explained. “He died in battle, trying to save her.” She watched a thought go through his green eyes, but he stayed quiet, stepping forward to study the image more closely. He seemed genuinely invested in it, his body tensed in an odd fascination that she understood only too well.

Unwittingly, his next question aloud was one she had asked history repeatedly, and early on. “Who were they to each other?”

Most people simply assumed that they were companions-in-arms, or that they were married, only to be told that neither had ever taken a spouse. They never questioned it further. Some even refused to consider anything else than grudging mutual respect, none of which had ever felt remotely right to her. They remained an unsolvable puzzle despite her best efforts.

And that strange man who, barely twenty minutes earlier, was annoyed to even be on the premises, was now making a beeline for the same mysteries that haunted her. For the first time since discovering that painting, she felt its pull shift oddly.

When she didn’t reply, he turned around to look at her, as if she held all the answers. While it was infinitely tempting to pour her limited but cherished knowledge into an eager ear, she was more curious to see the conclusions he would draw on his own. “Why don’t you read the description?”

There was a slightly dissatisfied frown on his face when he sat beside her after going through the somewhat unhelpful panel. Clearly, the frustration with the story was not only hers. Did he feel that glaring... hollow in it? The unsubstantiated certitude that something vital was missing?

Somehow, while he said nothing more, Brienne knew he did.

She stole a few glances at him while they kept to silent contemplation. His profile was striking, perfect lines with perfect curves, a jawline and cheekbones that would have easily made him famous if he’d been introduced to the right people. Stubble was showing, as light as the hair that flopped lazily on his ears. His skin had a healthy tan, making it into a very appealing golden colour.

Still, his whole demeanour appeared to indicate his personality was devoid of the narcissistic streak that this kind of good looks usually accompanied. She couldn’t  _ know _ him by any stretch of imagination, but she somehow strongly held the judgement that he could be taken at face value. So to speak.

They sat in companionable silence, with an odd sort of quiet, mutual understanding. Nothing she’d experienced had ever felt anything like it, not even with the few close friends she’d made over the years. 

“I think they loved one another,” she said softly. It had been a truth she’d never spoken to anyone, for fear of being looked down on condescendingly. She knew no one would take a romantic theory seriously, coming from a woman, and had kept it to herself as a treasure.

His voice had an assurance that startled her, though he didn’t look away from the painting. “They did. I mean,” he added after a pause, hesitating as if he was realizing what he had just said. But he held on to his statement. “...yeah.”

Something intangible was slowly clicking into place, and Brienne struggled to define the very nature of it. He seemed to be echoing her own feelings in a way that should have been impossible without knowing  _ her _ intimately.

Visitors came and went as they remained in contemplating silence.

When he spoke again, he pushed it further. “She believed in him more than he did himself,” he started, turning to finally meet her eyes. From this close, the familiarity of his traits, of his  _ being _ , was suddenly impossible to ignore. “It saved him,” he finished, sounding oddly touched.

Trying to deal with the onslaught of strange emotions assailing her, she had the reflex to argue. “He died. She did not manage to save him.” The thought racked her with senseless guilt, and for a moment she feared that she might cry.

“No, she did,” he protested, “He would have died long before, and in shame.” He looked at the golden knight again. “He lived to redeem himself because of her.”

He seemed so confident in that knowledge, she let herself believe it. Unexpected relief coursed through her, as though she had somehow unwittingly carried around that unresolved worry around. And a stranger who had known  _ nothing _ of the Maid and the Lion’s story suddenly put it to rest.

She was still trying to find a way to respond when an angry shriek made his whole body cringe. 

“Jaime!” 

The gorgeous woman who had deserted him earlier had returned in a no better mood, and she planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips, ignoring Brienne entirely. Her companion didn't appear particularly overjoyed at the reunion.

“I've been looking for you for an hour!” If she really had, considering the open spaces all of the exhibits presented, she was not very good at it, and he could hardly be blamed. 

She reminded herself that it did not concern her, and that  _ Jaime _ could have entirely deserved the seemingly unfair treatment. Yet, she doubted it.

“You’re the one who walked away,” he let out flatly, and she had to control her own face not to smile or cringe. The girlfriend was already furious enough as it was.

“We’re leaving,” the woman announced coldly, swishing away as her male counterpart rose slowly. The look on his face told of many things, and somehow when he met Brienne’s eyes, regret was one of them. She could only offer a sorry smile in return. 

The feeling his departure created was unexpected, almost making her reach out to stop him. Instead, she balled her hand into a fist, her short nails digging painfully into her palm. It was as though there was an invisible string being stretched as he walked away.

She stood, watching him reach the entrance of the exhibit, and the moment passed. Whatever that had been, it was over. She turned back to the painting, wondering if she would be able to return to it without thinking of that encounter. It had been so... vivid.

“What’s your name?” Jaime was suddenly back, and he stared at her, eye to eye. The contrast between the loss of his presence and his return was stark, but the sense of urgency in his voice left her little time to think.

“Brienne - “ she began, only to be interrupted by a shriek that made everyone around them jump.

“ _ JAIME! _ ”

Clearly he knew what awaited him, and as he walked away, with a grin this time, he looked back. “I’ll find you again,” he promised. 

What an odd thing to say, she reflected, but nodded. This was by far the most bizarre encounter she had ever had in her life, she thought as an amused smile crept on her lips. 

He seemed pleased as he left, and she realized perhaps a moment too late that she would be hard to trace outside of the museum. Targaryens were not quite a public bunch.

She’d wait.


	2. Once More With Feelings

The sky was a deep shade of blue through the window of Brienne’s home office, and she found herself daydreaming of another vacation to Tarth. It had been entirely too long since her last visit. Perhaps during the next winter: she had yet to see it covered in snow.

Briefly, the thought of bringing another companion than her dog Oath crossed her mind, and she dismissed a flash of green eyes and blond hair. It had nearly been a week since meeting Jaime in the museum, and she suspected that whatever trance had had them talking might have worn off days ago for him.

She was still unsure of what she wanted to happen. Life was very uncomplicated as it was: she worked, she travelled, she spent time with Oath. Did she want a man in her life?

A blush crept on her neck at the thought. There was no way it would turn into that, and she was foolish for assuming it was even a possibility. He had a girlfriend - though maybe not anymore - and his type seemed to be the antithesis of her.

But a friend would be nice.

If they ever saw one another again.

She pushed him out of her mind, returning to her current research. The Maid had been the last of her house, Tarth, leaving no heir. That complicated the search for artefacts, which had been the object of Brienne’s efforts in the past few years. She’d been quite successful, especially for someone with little formal training, and had been happy to contribute her findings to the Kingsland’s History Museum.

It had actually been somewhat of a fight at first. At the time she initially contacted the institution, it was helmed by a Baratheon, a severe man whose lineage had at very many times entered conflicts against Targaryens - and surprisingly survived to tell the tale, though it had come close to extinction a few times - and he had turned her away with barely a glance at her collection.

The man had been unpopular at best, even with the board that administered the museum. A few inquiries and a large donation later, he had been dismissed. 

A few recommendations were submitted, and out of them, Maege Norrey was appointed, a no-nonsense historian whose dedication to the field and fierce personality had struck through, making her one of the few female experts regarded with respect - and if any were honest, also with a good dose of fear.

Suddenly, the museum had found itself in an upheaval, turning from a conservative institution focused mainly on preservation to one devoted to outreach. Brienne’s offerings, with the appropriate documentation and certifications, were hastily welcomed, and had fabulously garnished the medieval exhibit, to the marvel of both the patrons and the board.

She had never had the reflex to call on her name to pressure the outcome of a conflict, but knew how to do it if necessary. She didn’t quite look the part - while she did have uncommonly pale hair, she lacked the famous, signature purple tinge found in the eye colour of her cousins. The rest of her did not help. Definitely unpretty, features too coarse and broad to evoke the femininity usually found in the women of her family - or in most any women, really - and set on a strong, mannish frame that would get her mistaken for a guy even now. 

_ Especially _ now, as she had found that training and developing the powerful body she was stuck with went a long way into intimidating idiots.

She had been tall and broad very early in childhood and teenage years, and only sometime between those had her frame become an asset to her dealing with her peers. She’d been ridiculed for it, and had eventually discovered that standing straight, shoulders back, chin high, conferred authority to the body she had only suffered until then. 

It  _ did _ help that she matched the stance with the response bullies had never considered receiving: shoving back the aggression she received. Before long, broken-nosed Brienne was left alone with a somewhat deferential respect, that she had found so much more fulfilling than the fake one she usually got from her name.

Her mind wandered back to the previous week’s odd encounter with Jaime. She wondered if he’d found out about her heritage yet, and if it would put him off. People were so easily intimidated by her name, to the point where it made her feel isolated most of the time.

Unable to focus properly on her reading, she looked at the time: it was still early, earlier than she had been at the museum the previous Sunday, but... 

...she’d chance it.

It was a good twenty-minute walk, in a much cooler weather than any of the past few days. She was not a huge fan of heat, still feeling awkward in revealing too many of her freckles, and she smiled as she went through pockets of coolness under the numerous trees on her journey.

She was just reaching the museum when she spotted him. Jaime’s handsome profile was unmistakable, even from a distance, but the look on his face worried her. He seemed dazed, and completely unconcerned about his surroundings or his path, which was about to lead him into the busy traffic of Aegon boulevard.

There was an annoyed expression on his face as he turned around when Brienne pulled him back by his shirt, which morphed into shock when he recognized her. As least he seemed more present than he had a moment before.

“Please don’t walk into traffic,” she said with a worried look. Was he on something?

His jaw set itself into a near pout as he shrugged his shirt back in order. “Should I curtsy, or...?”

Ah. So he  _ had _ found out about her lineage, she thought, rolling her eyes. The fact that he’d made it to the museum on a Sunday again, apparently unaccompanied, and seemed oddly bitter  _ now _ pointed to the usual culprit. She sighed. “Podrick?"

He half-raised a shoulder dismissively, still looking annoyed. That would be more than enough, in normal circumstances, for her to abandon him to his childish ways.

But.

She was still curious.

Hooking an arm under his, Brienne led them back to the building Jaime had just exited, meeting little resistance. "He's a bit... overprotective,” she explained. “Not sure why. I have all the possible means to defend myself already.” Not that there would be much he could do in any circumstance, not having much of an athletic figure himself.

She spotted him quickly inside, and he had an appropriately bashful look on his face and they made their way to him. "Pod,” she started for the xth time.

He seemed to misunderstand his error. "Miss, I'm so sorry. I tried to tell - "

She cut him off. “Pod. I appreciate that you are trying to preserve me from the gods only know what, but please do not intimidate visitors on my behalf unless I specifically ask you to."

The boy looked terrified, and she realized that she had probably been harsher than she’d intended. She softened her stance, and her tone. "I'm not angry at you, but don't do it again, alright?"

He nodded briefly, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to remind anymore. He was a good lad, with a good heart and the best intentions. He just needed to calm down a little.

That was one issue settled. Jaime still silently hung on her arm, Brienne moved towards the café to address the next one. "Ugh, I'm starving." She’d been too engrossed in her readings - and daydreaming - to remember to eat lunch, and it felt like an adequate setting for a discussion with a near stranger.

Pia was even more enthusiastic than usual, probably from the handsome guest who quietly trailed along after her. She never hung out with anyone on the museum’s grounds other than the staff, and she could see the cogs turning behind the barista’s eyes. Patiently ignoring the conspiratorial smiles, she ordered, a roast beef sandwich with pasta salad for herself, and ham-and-cheese with coleslaw for a still mostly silent Jaime, with his assent.

She led him to the booths, enjoining him to eat as she devoured her own meal. She felt self-conscious about eating in public at the best of times, but her companion’s immobility told of his wandering eyes, and she knew she was under particular scrutiny. 

Yet, she trusted that the odd connection they had would have him be somewhat more... lenient? about her unusual appearance. He’d come to find her, after all.

Letting him observe her for some time, she found the silence becoming a bit too heavy, so she broke it with the bluntest comment she could think of. “What, have you never seen an ugly woman before?”

She’d been careful not to sound accusatory, and he seemed taken aback, as a bit of colour rose to his cheeks. His green eyes met hers with a sheepish expression. “I... don’t think that’s the point.”

That was not an answer Brienne had expected, and she had to laugh. “You don’t think? You mean you don’t know?” Usually, people stuttered some form of protest about how she wasn’t ugly, which never impressed her; or they went ahead and tried to show some bravado and to insult her further.

Jaime was doing neither. She was not quite sure  _ what _ he was doing, actually. She watched him poke at his food for a moment, avoiding her gaze, as he pondered his reply. Finally, apparently giving up on a better explanation, he spoke up. “I just don’t know what I... what I’m feeling around you.”

That strangely echoed her own reality. He was so  _ familiar _ , which was confusing considering the quiet thrill that being in his presence elicited. Abandoning her meal, she gathered her thoughts, her impressions of him and the sort of implicit knowledge she seemed to inexplicably have of him. “I don’t remember meeting you before,” she began, meeting his eyes. “And yet, I...  _ know _ you.”

It was quite obvious in his expression that she’d put words on his own feelings, and she felt encouraged, pressing on.

“Your work includes manual labour, dexterity.” Small burn marks and light scars were visible on the rough skin of his hands. Not that she’d ever consciously studied them. “You... could be ambitious, but you're not, aside from the talent you know you have,” she continued, reflecting on his grounded, yet confident attitude. “And people tend to try and make more plans for you than you wish for.” He’d looked so ill at ease with his demanding girlfriend. Speaking of which - “You dislike conflict - much like everyone else if they’re honest - but you’d rather go at it head on than play games. You probably broke up with that girlfriend of yours the moment you got home last week.”

Jaime had gone definitely a shade paler, but he didn’t protest. It was like pulling something out of her mind that she never knew was there, and she now keenly felt the space it resided in. 

Her breath hitched as she spoke again. “You are loyal, sometimes to a fault, and not always to what and who people expect you to be,” she continued. “You don’t shy away from consequences and responsibilities, and you’re ready to lead when needed, but never seeking to take it forcibly. You don't share much of what goes on in that pretty head of yours, mostly because you feel people are already judging you anyway.”

He blinked at her a few times before looking away. Brienne hoped he didn’t take any of it as a judgement. It was simply... what she perceived.

Composing himself, he took a long moment to reply. “I’m a welder.” The look in his green eyes told of the disappointment it had brought out in people around him. “My parents... would have liked me to be a lawyer. Cersei would have liked me to be a lawyer,” he added. “Or a businessman. Or just not a welder.” Yet she had held on to him, waiting for him to be someone he wasn’t.

Brienne knew she’d been very lucky with the parents she had, who had known how to shield her brother and her from the pressure of their imposing legacy. That had never stopped people outside of their family however, who saw their lack of interest for politics and public works as a failure of genetics. “I know what it’s like not to meet expectations.” 

That seemed to be an outlandish statement in Jaime’s eyes. “Do you even care?”

“Of course I do.” It had been so, so painful, as a child. “It’s human nature. I don’t base my life on it, but I would be lying if I said it doesn’t touch me,” she found herself explaining. Not that she had ever really admitted that to anyone else. Or really had anyone else to admit it to, she thought with a sad smile.

She could see him mulling over the rest of her assertions, and he spoke after a while. “I did break up with Cersei,” he confirmed with a remarkable lack of anguish. “I guess if we weren’t married by now, it wasn’t meant to be.” Brienne wondered if he had ever proposed. And what kind of person could pass on it. “I guess we were both waiting for the other to be the person we needed.”

Nodding, she looked down at her near empty plate. There it was, the ghost of loneliness that made her feel envious even of failed relationships.

“What about you?” Her head snapped back up to Jaime, who was looking at her with curiosity. 

“Me?”

Studying his untouched food, he seemed to look for the right words. “I mean, I can’t do the...” He waved his utensils with a smile. “...psychic thing.”

Perhaps he could, but was too fearful of being wrong to try it. He seemed intimidated by her, as most people were, but he’d said such accurate things the previous week. “It’s not a psychic thing. I had you followed,” she said with a chuckle. The incredulous look he gave her, his fork hovering in front of his open mouth, was simply priceless.

She let a beat pass for effect, then barely refrained a laugh. “I’m better at pretending than I thought I was! Or, you’re more gullible than you look. That’s good to know.” He made a face before she went on. 

“It’s not a psychic thing. At least I don’t think it is,” Brienne explained, leaning on her elbow. “I never had that kind of... experience before. It feels like things I always knew. Like being confronted with a subject you never studied, but knowing that it works the same as other things you have encountered before.” It felt like such an awkward description of the situation, but she couldn’t think of anything else. “I don’t go around telling people about their innermost motivations,” she added. “They would think I can read their minds, and that would scare them further.” She was well aware of her effect on people.

“I think it’s more like respect.” She had to laugh at that, knowing the truth. But the fact that Jaime was protesting spoke of his own views. Good. 

“No, it’s definitely fear, at least in part. You don’t get to be a Targaryen and not have people you meet worry about their safety, physical, financial or otherwise.” And it was alienating.

“There are probably a lot of people who would still be intimidated without the name.” There was a light hesitation in his voice, and it took a second for Brienne to understand that he was uncertain about mentioning her looks. It was kind of adorable: she rarely met people who neither awkwardly avoided the topic entirely, or went head-on with insults.

“Fewer than you’d think, actually.” Nowadays, anyway. “Because I’m a  _ woman _ , a lot underestimate me, and some have reaped the consequences, too.” Such satisfying memories.

“Podrick doesn’t.”

He was right. The young man clearly strived to be a decent person, and while her stature - social and physical - somewhat intimidated him, he had genuine respect for her, and it was mutual. “Indeed not. He was forthcoming and helpful and a little bit terrified long before he knew my name.”

He had a curious smirk. “Is that how your nose got broken? Someone underestimated you?” Damn, he was observant.

“Well spotted,” she confirmed. “Pretty much. I never was on the front, public rows of my family, so my parents decided to preserve my identity in school by registering me as Hightower, an old name that has been connected to our house a couple of centuries back.” It had cropped up many times in her research as well. “I was shier back then, and some large idiot mistook that for weakness. He might have tried it even if he’d known who my family was, though, he was about that stupid. He made me trip and I hit the lockers head-on. He lost two teeth that day.” And had gained many bruises. “The only reason he didn’t get expelled is that I begged my parents. I wanted him to spend the next years skirting the walls when he saw me in the hall.”

And he had. It had been as satisfying as she had hoped, and although she had gotten in trouble herself as well, it had been worth it.

Jaime had a half-amused, half-admiring expression now. Then he seemed to recall something. “Hightower? So that social media profile with the white Great Dane, that’s yours?”

So he  _ had _ tried to find her. That made her ridiculously happy, but she couldn’t quite show that yet. “You’ve been snooping.”

“I said I’d find you again.” He seemed pretty proud of himself, and Brienne found her lips breaking into a smile despite herself.

“You did.”


	3. Legacies, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to cut the last chapter in two, as it was running a bit long from all the additions of Brienne's perspective and thoughts and work. And there will be an epilogue past what has been written in The Last Time as well.
> 
> Enjoy all this angst :D

“Best friend? What are you, twelve?”

They were lounging on Jaime’s sofa, his head rested on her upper thigh, as he recounted the conversation he had had with his friend Addam. Apparently, the status of his relationship with Brienne had been brought up, and somehow ‘best friend’ had come up instead of the usual ‘ _ just _ friends’.

She had tried to pretend mocking the title. He hadn’t bought it.

“Oh, please. We train together. We eat together all the time. We hang out doing nothing just like  _ right now _ . We even have those museums d- ...visits during which we mostly just stare at the same painting for an hour. And then discuss it. I hadn’t even seen Addam in weeks until yesterday. If that does not warrant the title of ‘best friend’, I don’t know what does.”

Not that she’d show it, but she was quite pleased with that state of things.

Her hope for a companion had been fulfilled much quicker than she had expected. Jaime’s arrival in her life ended up being almost seemless, as if he’d been a piece fitting naturally in her existence.

There had been the usual dance of, ‘let’s not get too attached, too quickly’, when they’d both refrained from reaching out too often, but when there had been clear enthusiasm from both sides at every suggestion, that had soon been dropped.

It had been scary, at first. Brienne knew she liked him as more than a friend from the start, but she was used to not have that kind of feelings returned. Almost all of the subtle glances he gave her when he thought she wasn’t looking caught her eye, however, and she had to admit that after many weeks, it couldn’t simply be because he found her fascinatingly ugly.

There was no need to rush anything, she told herself as they settled into comfortable routines, fully aware that she was cowardly avoiding making a move. There had been relationships before, none of which had ended well, and she was loathe to have that happen again. Instead, she contented herself with the very frequent meetings, occasional outings and regular workouts. 

The first time she suggested using the pool of her apartment complex, she almost regretted it, having somehow forgotten that she’d be wearing a swimsuit in front of him. A very unremarkable one, too, and for the first time in many years, she was kind of sad not to have anything interesting to show in it.

Not that Jaime had minded. In the least. He had stared for so long that she wondered if he was trying to count the freckles on the blotchy skin of her thighs. He’d made a quip about her choice of suit to cover it, pretending it was far too mundane for her.

He was always been adamant about how extraordinary she was, which she’d first taken as mockery. When she had called him out on it, however, he had explained.

“Brienne. You look like you could actually be a knight. You’re an heir of the most famous family in Westeros’s history. You’ve achieved an amazing level of expertise, on your own no less, and you’ve made significant contributions to your field. You’re strong, you’re stubborn, you’re kind and funny and amazingly annoying. Nothing about you is ordinary.”

There was such admiration in his voice when he said it, she’d let herself believe he might mean it. 

Not that she had any doubt that she  _ was _ extraordinary, but not many people understood that it was a good thing.

So she let him make silly comments and half-protested. And when he looked away from her, embarrassed of his own staring, she took in her own fill. He was definitely, definitely handsome, with perfect lines and kind, amused emerald eyes, and strongly built, something that had been highlighted and improved even, since he’d started training with her. His very easy smile was devastating, and she’d tease him about its effect on the women they crossed paths with, pretending it had none on her.

Oath had been wary of him from the start, though the dog had always been quite protective. Jaime had accepted it gracefully. “I’m stepping into your dynamic,” he’d once acknowledged. “It’s kind of normal that it’ll take her some time to accept me. It’s not like she’s aggressive, either.” Perhaps she just remembered how the breakups had affected her owner. She  _ had _ been outrightly hostile towards the worst assholes they had met. 

Her attitude had changed suddenly one day, at a chance meeting while they were taking a stroll in the park. It was only the second time she had seen Cersei, then accompanied by an ostentatiously large man, and she was still as stunningly beautiful as she had been months before at the museum. She was just as haughty, too, as Jaime awkwardly attempted to make civil conversation with her and the large man at her arm. Then he’d introduced her to them as Brienne Hightower.

Brienne had understood then that his uneasiness came from Cersei, and not from herself. He had stood straighter when he’d noticed the couple on their path, but he had been bracing himself to take a stand against his former lover, not trying to impress her.

Cersei had indeed looked her up and down, apparently not remembering her from their previous, brief encounter. Distaste was clear in her eyes even though she smiled amicably, and the memories of Jaime’s strained frowns whenever he had dealt with her for weeks after their breakup came flooding back.

There was no way she would get to inflict that on him this time. Brienne had flung herself on his arm, giggling - she’d felt him tense with surprise - and rightfully introduced herself. “Oh come on, Jaime, you don’t need to hide me! Brienne Targaryen. So nice to finally meet you! He’s told me so much about you.” The look on Cersei’s face, especially, was priceless, as she realized that what he must have said couldn’t have been especially flattering. She had fled with her companion shortly after.

He hadn’t really said anything, actually, other than recounting important instances in his life in which she’d had a part. She’d just had to watch the many feelings that passed on his face as he did so to understand more than he’d ever explain.

That short interaction had somehow assuaged many of her doubts. She’d been used before, not that the culprits had enjoyed much spoils from it once she caught on: revenge was always swift. They’d all assumed she would cower in shame when she’d found a boyfriend cheating; another trying to steal money from her; an idiot trying to become famous through their relationship. Clearly, they’d misunderstood her nature.

Either Jaime was a master manipulator, talented enough to foil her years of practice at spotting deceivers, or he was genuinely invested in their friendship.

Or whatever it was that they had.

Apparently, Oath, who had been quietly observing everything unfold with Cersei, had perceived the slight switch in her. They’d found her leaning against his leg, and she’d been as affectionate with him as with Brienne ever since.

The dynamics of their relationship had been shifting slowly for a while, but that had cemented it as well. Light touches that had made her shy at first were returned, and she never missed the smiles that they produced. Lounging on the sofa had become much more comfortable, now that Oath didn’t insist on separating them. She’d rest her legs over his, and he’d stroke the skin over her knee, making it impossible for her to focus on whatever they were watching. Wishing warm fingers would crawl higher.

She started enjoying his stares, a bit viciously, wondering if he noticed that she was doing exactly the things she knew would get his attention. He kept stealing glances and tried to hide he was bothered, while she kept her smirks to herself.

Except that time she’d gone topless on purpose, changing shirts, and Jaime had actually blushed and turned away after his wide eyes had raked over her barely-there breasts. She’d laughed, thrown her discarded shirt at his head, and amused herself of the colour that has taken quite a long time to leave his cheeks. He hadn’t even tried to protest.

Life was otherwise pretty simple, as neither were interested in making whatever they had into a dramatic game. Brienne was occasionally travelling a few days for her work, leaving a now cooperative Oath with him instead of the daycare. They were both at the airport to greet her at her return. Every single time.

She had been very grateful for the apparent interest he had shown in her work. He was by no mean a history buff, but he always listened intently when she told him of an ancestor or of an event. While most of her other interlocutors would simply reply with well-timed ‘hmms’ and nods, he would comment and ask astute questions.

The stories surrounding the Maid of Tarth and the Lion of Lannister were still his favourite, for the same intangible reasons they were hers as well. They still visited ‘their’ painting fairly regularly.

“Ms Targaryen! And Jaime,” Podrick would greet them. He still harboured distrust by principle, but otherwise acted civil. Jaime made a show of being incredibly friendly with the guy, and she had to chide him for it every time.

“I just want him to like me! He likes  _ you _ ,” he would protest. “He should like me too.”

“We’re not the same person. I just happen to be charming, and you’re... well.” She looked him up and down as he made a scandalized face. “You’re  _ okay _ , I guess.”

Then he had redoubled his effort to have Pod sway to his side. In vain.

Pia had been easily won over, and lavished him with compliments... about Brienne, oddly. “She’s been sooo nice. Always courteous, and patient! I love cooking for her. Have you ever cooked for her? I can give you recipes if you like.”

His presence with her at the museum also helped a certain situation. The employee manning the administration desk on weekdays was a large, red-headed Northman who’d taken a liking to her. It was a very one-sided interest, and he seemed not to get her very obvious hints at it. It was more a vague annoyance than a conflict, which was why she’d mostly ignored it.

The first time she had stopped by with Jaime in tow, however, the two men had had a pretty intense staring contest while she filled forms. Her friend had looked back with a smug, victorious grin when she’d pulled him along to leave, and after a last attempt the next time he saw her, the clerk had left her alone.

They’d sit for an hour or two in front of the Maid’s and the Lion’s painting, and she would relate what she knew of them both. How the Maid had left no heir, and the Lion’s illegitimate progeny had died in the conflicts that surrounded the Dragon War, in which he had been killed himself. The Maid had had Targaryen blood, Brienne explained, so they were related. “They called her The Beauty, so yeah,  _ distantly _ related.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment. He always showed dislike for her remarks on her own unflattering looks, but never had the dishonesty to contradict her. She appreciated it.

“Aren’t there any other paintings of her?” he asked instead. “With a face, perhaps, so that we can judge whether history was recorded accurately?” He had learned a lot from her talking about her research, she thought with a smile, and how history was often reinterpreted many more times than truth would allow for.

But there were no depiction that had been done during the Maid’s lifetime. “Apparently she wasn’t very fond of sitting still for very long,” Brienne mused with a smile. She understood the restlessness very well. There weren’t any of the Lion either, as his fall from society’s graces during the war had tarnished his reputation until that very day. His whole House had vanished after, with a good deal of its history, and one of her goals was to restore some of that as well.

An opportunity arose unexpectedly in the spring. “I might have found something,” she said offhandedly one evening, as they walked Oath on her usual circuit. She’d been searching for the Maid’s sword, which had disappeared from records less than a century after her death. It was a wild goose chase, but there was a private collector in Asshai who had returned her inquiry with hopeful information.

Not that she felt she wanted to share that with Jaime just yet. It was silly, probably, but he would probably get to share all of her disappointment when she’d return anyway. He would get so excited for her, knowing how close it was to her heart, and she was trying to quell her own hopes to prevent being overly crushed.

He didn’t appreciate it nor, apparently, the prolonged absence that it would warrant. “You don’t need to hide things from me,” he argued, raising his voice. Brienne felt anxiety pull at her. This was uncharacteristically self-centred of him, and immediately the unpleasant thought that this was a bad omen for the future of their friendship flickered to her mind.

That feeling sadly did not leave her, even after he apologized and didn’t push the subject further.

She had to chide him for his gloomy mood the day she left. “Are you going to sulk for the next three weeks? Or will you take my calls?” He looked sheepish as he closed in for a hug, but she stopped him, clearly expecting an actual answer.

“I will,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just a really long time.” He sounded genuinely sad, and she relented, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I’ll call you every day, then.”

“It’s not the same.”

She pulled away, hands on his shoulders. “You will survive this. I have faith in you,” she mocked. He made a face at her, and she thought of kissing him. The apprehension he felt at being separated was probably very similar to her own, but she had to do this. And, stubbornly, by herself.

The first few days of her trip consisted mainly of visiting contacts and offering some of her expertise to small museums and private collectors. She’d learned early that a strong network was crucial, and necessitated honing and maintenance. Hers had greatly benefitted from her personal and familial connections, something that most scholars hadn’t had much luck accessing. 

On the other hand, a slew of experts would have remained out of reach to her had she not found the right people to ask through: as a Targaryen seeking the history of her House, she’d been assumed to be biased, shallow, and a ‘near-sighted’ for being especially interested in the women of her dynasty. Books had been written at length on the Mad King and his male relatives, but even the Dragon Queen, Daenerys, who had brought about and ended the Dragon Wars, was still consistently overlooked and reduced to a superstitious, pretty woman.

She had used men’s pride and vanity to successfully achieve her goals, and so would Brienne. 

It was a matter of getting the right people to hear the right things, the ones they wanted to hear, so that they’d volunteer the wanted information. She had never played politics, but she’d watched and listened attentively when her father explained the moves people were making around them. “People will always underestimate yo, for a variety of reasons,” he’d explained once. “Play into that, and use it to your advantage.”

And she had, leading her to where she was now, within reach of an artefact that had been brushed off by many as forever lost or even mythical.

If only dealing with Jaime was as easy. Halfway through her trip, the morning before joining an expert to authenticate the collector’s sword, she made her daily call to Kingsland, only to have him once again insist on joining her. They’d been over that option before her departure, and she had thought the matter settled.

The stress of her upcoming meeting had put her on edge, but she couldn’t explain the situation to him. She was in no mind to argue, but she tried nevertheless. “I won’t have time for you here. I’ve been meeting with people around the clock since I stepped off the plane.”

“It’s fine, I can just... look around while you work.”

She had to trust that he would understand later. Or this would just accelerate the rift she feared this trip had created. “Jaime, I don’t want you to come.”

He was quiet for a long moment, and Brienne apologized, desperately wanting him to understand things she couldn’t say. It had been so easy before. He took a deep breath, sounding resigned. “Okay.” A pause, during which she wished she could physically reach out to him. “I get it,” he continued. “Eight more days, right?”

“Yes. And then I’ll be home and you can be as annoying as you want.” She thought she heard him smile, though he replied nothing. “I'm sure that Oath has been taking it much better than you are.”

He scoffed. “She's miserable the moment you walk away from her. It doesn't matter how long for, she'll be equally miserable for three days, or ten, or eighteen.” 

“Mmmm. She never mentioned anything.”

“Har-har.”

“You should go to bed now.”

“Been keeping you from work too long, huh?” There was still bitterness in his voice, and she knew he regretted it the moment it came out.

“No, this is in my schedule and you know it. But you’re tired,”  _ and grumpy,  _ “you’re working tomorrow, and it’s already late.”

A low “Mkay” came with a sigh as a reply, then, “Brienne? I’m sorry. I just... I miss you.”

“I know.”  _ Just don’t be an ass about it, you’re making this harder for both of us. _ “I miss you too.”

Brienne had to take a moment after hanging up to digest their conversation. While it had ended on a more positive note than she had hoped from the way it started, the nagging fear that they were treading on eggshells would not leave her.

It would be such a stupid way to ruin things. Perhaps she was being more independent than she needed to be. 

That thought was pushed away quickly as she gathered documents and garments to head off. Even if she was, Jaime was still acting childishly, and that was not her fault. It was less than three weeks, and it might happen again in the future. There was nothing threatening in her absence regarding their relationship.

By the time she met with the ancient weapons expert, a venerably old woman by the name of Melisandre, she was back to focussing on her target: the large, heavy sword with a lion-sculpted pommel in the holdings of Petyr Waters. The unassuming collector had been until then very discreet about his possessions. 

The lady had been contracted often both by Brienne herself and by the Kingsland Museum, and she held a wealth of fantastic trivia and legends on most of the artifacts she examined. She declared the longsword to be authentic Valyrian steel mere instants after touching it. Such steel had an odd, inner warmth that could not be imitated, she explained, as no one knew how it had been done: the secrets of forging metal in such a manner had been lost centuries before the Dragon War. Simply heating the blade would never produce the same result.

“Legend has it, it was molten by dragon fire, with infused it with the properties of an eternal flame. Your family was always very fond of dragons, wasn't it?”

Brienne had a slight smile. “And of fire. Not that it ended well for many of them.” Tales of Targaryens convinced they would be survive any flame had crept up often in her research.

The pommel was surprisingly intact, considering the centuries since its disappearance, and the sharp rubies that still adorned it. Brienne had to refrain from simply reaching for it and lifting it off the table it lay on: her hands itched to grasp the handle, feel the weight of the sword, have it slash through the air. She kept her fingers in the pockets of her trousers to prevent such a misstep. It was not hers, yet.

Melisandre examined both the weapon itself and its scabbard, before declaring that unless some of the tests returned with wildly surprising results that contradicted her observations, the blade fit the make and the period of the Maid’s sword. “It was reforged from an older weapon, you see, just like hers is said to have been,” she explained as she pointed out some of the ripples in the steel. “There are far more valuable Valyrian blades unaccounted for, so it would be an incredibly odd decision to take one to remodel it after the Maid’s. I am practically certain that this is authentic, although the laboratory will confirm this in a day or two. What was its name, again? The sword’s?”

“Oathkeeper,” Brienne heard herself say, unable to take her eyes off it. She could barely contain her elation, knowing that until the tests confirmed it, she couldn't quite let herself cry victory. Turning to Mr Waters, who had been extremely quiet the whole time, she had a charming smile. “I'm hoping we can discuss an arrangement?”

She'd picked up some signs that the man was more shrewd than he let on, but it wasn't her first time bargaining for an artefact. Her correspondence had been careful, showing interest but no desperation, and she knew she could still count on being underestimated. To some extent. 

“Of course, Ms Targaryen. Perhaps over dinner tonight?” His polite smile sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine.

“With pleasure.”   
  



	4. Legacies, part 2

Brienne’s plane landed four - or five? - days later, in early Friday afternoon, and she remembered with some disappointment that Jaime and Oath would not be there waiting for her. It was for the best, really, as she was surprising them both with an early return.

He would be home around dinner time, so that left her ample time to go home, shower, and return with sustenance. Oath was ecstatic just from hearing her key in the lock of Jaime’s apartment, and easily put her paws on each of her shoulders to lick her already-washed face clean. 

After organizing food in the refrigerator for that night’s meal, she settled down on the couch with her dog guarding her feet, a beer in one hand and photographs of her newest acquisition on the other. She had never been much of a drinker, but the perspective of seeing Jaime again made her nervous. They had spoken briefly the night before - his night, her morning on the way to the airport - and he'd been... lethargic. 

She almost made herself cry, thinking that he might return to his flat with a new female friend, and that she couldn't blame him. They weren't together, after all, not like that, so it wouldn't even be cheating.

The beer didn't help nearly as much as she had hoped, and for a moment she even reconsidered the importance of her trip to retrieve the Maid’s sword.

The lock turned once again, but Oath stayed still despite a warning  _ boof _ , having already gotten her owner back. An oddly bearded Jaime looked at them both, shocked, as Brienne let relief and happiness flood her. He returned her hug, and for a second she hoped he wouldn't let go. 

But he did, after a long moment, and she pulled him to the sofa and shoved her pictures into his hands as she made him sit down. She was too excited to speak, and watched the cogs turn and his expression change as he figured out the importance of her journey.

He barely breathed it. “That's her sword.” He looked at her, incredulous. She nodded, laughing at his wide eyes, knowing he understood the weight of her discovery. “I've been sending inquiries  _ everywhere _ for years. Everyone in the business of antiquities knows that I'm looking for anything related to the Targaryens, the Tarths, or the Lannisters, and somehow this private collector apparently ignored all of that until three months ago. He said he might have a Lannister sword in his collection, with sculpted lions. The description fitted Oathkeeper, but...”

“...but its very existence has been contested in the first place.” It seemed to dawn on him just  _ why _ she didn't want to talk about it. “But it was? It's the real thing?”

“It is. The lab tests confirmed it. It's a bit technical, but it's the Maid’s sword.  _ I FOUND IT, JAIME! _ ” She probably looked like an overgrown, overexcited child, but he smiled sincerely at her enthusiasm.

“The collector was a bit weird, kind of... He almost seemed to be flirting with me? He would have gladly gotten me drunk if I hadn't preemptively made sure that didn't happen.” He gave her a worried look, but Brienne shook her head, waving away his concern. “Anyway. I paid a high price for it, but it's worth it. It's gorgeous, I can’t wait for you to see it. Also,” she added with a deep breath, “I brought something else back.”

She produced a thick document from her bag. It had been commissioned only a few months after she'd met Jaime, but it had only been completed a few days prior. “The Lannister line was disgraced because of the Lion’s sister, and his reputation, and their father’s machinations.” While one of the Dragon Queen’s closest advisor had been the Lion’s own brother, he had apparently been strongly advised to take on a new name. “It was thought to have died out after the war, out of shame, but the remaining members changed their surnames.”

Some of them had been new, others had been taken back from old alliances to the once powerful House. She pointed to a name on a family tree at the end of the document. “One of them... was Swyft.”

Learning that his own surname was Swift hadn't fazed Brienne much, back when they had met, even though it had cropped up many times in her work: it was not an uncommon family in Westeros. She had mostly thought it was from the lesser houses and had mentioned as much to Jaime. Once it became clear that the remaining Lannisters might have hidden their existence with it, she'd started to investigate it, eventually contracting genealogists to further the results. 

“I couldn't find definitive proof,” she explained as he stared at her, “because they worked very hard to erase trace of the change, and people weren't exactly good at keeping records outside of the noble houses. But from what the researchers told me, it would make sense, time-wise and geographically, for you to be related to him.”

Her elation didn't seem to be shared, as he gaped wordlessly at both the pictures and the document. He looked up, oddly starting with an apology about bothering her while she was away. She brushed over the subject, not wanting to ruin the moment, knowing it would be an unpleasant conversation. She kept going about the investigation, until she noticed he was barely listening. 

She felt herself deflate. “You don't seem all that enthusiastic.” He looked at her, frowning. 

“No, I am. I really am. It's fantastic work, Brienne.” His smile returned, genuine, with a laugh. “I'm just shocked. I mean, what were the chances...? We've been...”

Their eyes met, and she knew he was there. Right there with her, and he understood what she meant, and wasn't going to deny any of it.

All of her fears of the past weeks, of seeing him drift away, to someone else,  someone better, out of her life, came roaring into her ears as she hugged him, choking words out of her. “I missed you,” she breathed, burying her face in his neck. She could feel his heart hammering as he pressed her tightly against his chest.

They remained in that embrace for a long time, gently coaxing each other’s breathing back to normal with tender touches. Perhaps feeling left out of the affection, Oath let out a whine as she settled her head on Jaime’s knee, effectively separating them as they laughed.

Food was prepared in an equally good mood. “What is that about?” Brienne brushed a finger on his bearded jaw. He’d always been clean-shaven, or just about. “Is that a protest?”

“I had planned to shave it off by the time you came back,” he answered, almost imperceptibly leaning into her touch. “But you came back early.”

“Oh sorry. I can leave again and come back in three days if you like,” she replied, stealing a piece of sweet pepper he’d just cut. He seized her wrist, uttering a dramatic “Noooooo” as she switched hands to quickly eat it before he could take it back. Wrapping his arms around her as she looked at him innocently, he pressed his forehead against hers, close enough that she thought he would kiss her.

“Please don’t leave me again. I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll go shave right now if you want.”

She laughed, ignoring her thundering heart. “I don’t have any opinion on your facial hair. Why would it matter anyway, what I think?”

He gave her a dark look, a grin, then a shrug. She could think of many arguments to answer that, but kept them to herself.

By the time they went out for their canine companion’s evening outing, they both could tell Brienne was exhausted. “You should stay here. It's late, and you'd have to bring all of Oath’s stuff back with you. I'm not trusting you to drive right now,” he added with a light shove of his shoulder as they walked.

“I can call a cab,” she half-protested. She usually argued when he tried to tell her what to do. Out of principle.

“Yeah, surely they will happily let you in with the giant drooling dog.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “For the right price they will!”

He slipped a hand in hers, looking at the trotting white dog ahead, who seemed a ghostly beacon guiding them. “Don't do that to them,” he pleaded.  _ To me _ , he meant. 

The rare nights she had slept over at his apartment, one of them had had the bed, the other the sofa. They'd almost fight for the latter, Jaime insisting that he was used to falling asleep on it anyway, Brienne arguing that exactly, he should get the bed for once. 

As she finished brushing her teeth with the spare toothbrush he had provided, she glimpsed his shadow leaving the bedroom. Quickly finishing up, she went after him, taking the pillow back from the couch. They locked eyes, and she pulled him after her. “Oath,  _ stay _ ,” she ordered as she shut the light off, exiting the living room.

Flinging the pillow back to the head of the bed, she turned to flick the bedroom’s switch off, and closed the distance between them in the dark. She could feel his heart echoing her own under her palms on his chest. Her lips were a hairbreadth away from his when she hesitated, suddenly and inexplicably shy and terrified. This was improper, she thought madly, but those concerns were not on Jaime's mind as he reached for her, embracing all that she was and the emotions that submerged them.

The kisses were tender, searching, playful, and relieved. The energy was running out of them both in a pleasant way, and she didn't argue when he pulled her towards the bed. “Let's go to sleep. We've got the whole weekend.”

She listened as his breathing evened out as she drifted off herself.  _ We've got a whole life. This time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is still an epilogue left!


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild language. Mention of sexuality. Very bad jokes. I'm not even sorry.

The mid-morning sun was filtering through the curtains when Brienne came around. The first things that registered in her mind were the warm body spooning against her back, and the hot mouth on her shoulder. She smiled, leaning back as Jaime hugged her against his chest.

“I’ve dreamt about this,” he muttered happily, not bothering to pull away from her skin to speak.

He had a hand under her shirt, stroking the skin below her breasts with his thumb. From the way he was moving, she could tell it would not stay that tame much longer. She rolled on her back, turning to watch him. “You have?”

By most accounts, this would not have been a bad move. However, her objective had been not to encourage - well, not exactly - his exploration of her body, but she now laid much more exposed than she had been. He took notice, sliding his fingers up against her ribs as he kissed her. “Hmmhmm. I’d wake up confused because you weren’t in my bed. And that I was somehow still wearing a pajama.”

Taking the opportunity, Brienne pretended to be scandalized, pushing his hand away. “Jaime! Is this the kind of things you dream about?”

He squinted at her with an eyebrow raised. “Look at me in the eye and tell me you’ve never dreamed about me naked, and I will call you a liar.”

“I have never dreamt of you naked,” she asserted. She had, for months now, even more insistently from the time she’d started catching him moving slightly towards her, as if for a kiss, when they met or parted. Her nights had often been filled with him reaching her, sneaking into her bed and loving her in all of the ways she craved it, craved  _ him _ , waking up either with an unsatisfying tingle, or a straight up aching.

“You are a liar, and a terrible one, too. I like that,” he concluded, kissing her again, his hand finding its way to the skin of her waist. It was very intent on sliding downwards, she found, but she had to stop him.

“Mmmm. I’m sorry, but this is going to have to wait a bit.” He pouted. “A dog’s bladder has a time limit,” she explained, pushing the covers off her.

Jaime tried pulling her back. “Just five minutes!”

“If it’s going to be that quick, maybe I’m not that interested,” Brienne laughed as she escaped his grasp. He called after her as she greeted Oath happily in the living room.

“That’s  _ not _ what I meant!”

Despite his whining, his clothes were on five minutes later as he joined them to go out. “You don’t have to come, I’ll be back in less than half an hour.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to be almost half an hour too long,” he argued, slipping his hand into hers as he put his coat on. “And you’re gonna be cold. Better be cold together, then warm up together,” he grinned.

Their stroll was punctuated with stops so Oath could do her business, sniff at every tree, while Jaime snuck kisses every passing chance. The day promised to be gorgeous, and they encountered many other walkers.  _ It would be so satisfying to meet Cersei today _ .

He managed to trap her into a hug while the Great Dane investigated a known, highly sought doggy spot. His lips on her neck were heading into a less publicly appropriate direction when he stopped by himself, nuzzling her skin. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Brienne pulled away, puzzled. “Where is that coming from?”

A shrug. “I don’t know, it’s just... I keep thinking about the Maid and the Lion. So maybe it was a coincidence that we met and that we’re related to them, but...” He shook his head. “There was a really odd pull in the first place. What if it was our old souls desperately pushing us together?”

The familiarity she had felt around him those first times had been highly unusual, and had only settled further with time, she admitted. But reincarnation? “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Well, it would be pretty cool. Like we’re destined to be together. We’re fulfilling an unconsummated love that’s centuries-old.”

“ _ Sure _ . You’re cute,” she chuckled, pulling him along as Oath went on her way. “So we’d only be finding each other now? After all that time?”

“Maybe we were reincarnated before but didn’t cross paths. Maybe we had entire happy lives together. Or maybe we waited to find the right people to be reborn as.”

She side-eyed him. “Right. The Beauty of Tarth choosing to be reincarnated as me. That’s hilarious.”

“Oh, please stop.” Jaime pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. “ _ Please _ stop,” he repeated, pleading. “I wouldn’t lie and say you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, but don’t reduce yourself to this. If the Maid had to choose, she’d take a strong, stubborn, brilliant woman like you. And I mean, I’m definitely not knight material myself, so.”

“Then maybe we’re not reincarnations at all,” Brienne mocked, giving him a push. He didn’t let go.

“You’re still stuck with me,” he shrugged.

“Terrible.”

They walked in silence for a while, circling back towards his flat. The building was in sight when he pulled her to him again. “I mean it, you know. I’m not letting go.”

She smirked. “For the right price, you might.”

“Well,” he sighed. “If the offer was to end world hunger, perhaps I’d consider it. But then I’d still be hungry for you, so...” He wriggled an eyebrow at her.

“Wow. WOW. That was a terrible pickup line, Jaime. No wonder you’ve been single for months!”

“That is a very good line,” he protested as she walked away. “Wasn’t it, Oath? Tell her I’m awesome!”

The dog had been sitting by them when they stopped, and she looked up at him when he talked to her. A low  _ boof _ came out before she strutted back to her owner.

“See? She’s not impressed. You’re gonna have to try harder.”

Brienne heard him jog up to them, then whisper in her ear, “Let’s go back to bed, and I will show you  _ harder _ .”

“What in the Seven - that’s not better! It’s actually getting worse!”

“You like it!”

“I don’t know  _ yet _ , if I like it. Hopefully you’ll put your money where your mouth is.”

He smirked, pushing the door open for them. “I will put a lot of things where my mouth is.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” she laughed.

“Well, I  _ am _ kidding you, but we’re not yet fuc - “

“Stop. Please stop.”

 

Oath was diving happily into her newly filled food bowl when Brienne’s cellphone rang. Jaime considered himself next in line for her attention, giving her a pout worthy of a four-year-old when she took the call. “It’s the museum,” she mouthed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ms Targaryen, I thought you would not pick up. What time is it in Asshai?”

“Mrs Norrey! I’ve returned early, actually. I’m already back in Kingsland.”

“Please, Maege. Excellent. I trust it was a productive trip?”

“Quite,” Brienne smiled. Jaime now had his chin leaning on her shoulder. “I have much to discuss with you, actually.”

“So have I with you. I’ve been going through the records of messages sent by ravens to and from the castle, and I’ve come across something that might interest you, considering your eminent research on the Maid.”

She stood straighter, dislodging her companion. “I - yes, I’m always looking for any new information.”

“Marvellous. I’m currently at the museum - I’d been going through a copy of the document at home and when I saw this, I thought it best to verify the original. Would you be able to join me today?”

Jaime cringed at her sheepish look. “Of course. I can be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Are you punishing me for making all those bad jokes?” he asked when she hung up. “Can I just maybe apologize and then we’ll go back to bed?”

“She wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important,” Brienne argued, retrieving her clothes. Sweatpants - his - were good enough as pajamas and for a walk around the neighbourhood, less so for a business meeting. “Especially not on a weekend.”

He sighed, but followed her. In the car, she felt compelled to argue her case further as he kept quiet. 

“Mrs Norrey has very little spare time, so her taking some of her weekend for this means it’s probably major. Two hours. I promise you.”

When he was still silent as they reached the museum, she pulled him back. “Are you mad at me?”

He looked at her, green eyes boring into hers, and leaned in for a kiss. “I’m not mad. I am also not stupid enough to ask you to choose between your lifelong obsession with a historical figure, and little old me. That would be pointless. I might not like much to have to share you so soon after last night, but I  _ guess _ I can wait two more hours,” he finished with a grin.

She smiled, kissing him back, and they walked to the entrance hand-in-hand.

“Besides,” he added with a dramatic sigh, “I wouldn’t win.”

Mrs Norrey was waiting in her office, springing up from her chair when Brienne knocked on the door frame. She had been entirely focused on the old, bound register on her desk. The middle-aged lady extended a hand as a greeting, thanking them shortly for their presence. The couple sat double across from her by the desk as she explained her discovery.

“As far as history is concerned,” she started, “the Maid never took a husband, and as a result the Tarth line ended with her.” Both members of her audience nodded in agreement, but they had noticed the odd choice of words. “Going through the correspondence in and out of the castle a little some three years after the end of the Dragon Wars, I noticed a message that was odd in nature, but even more so considering that context.”

She passed them a photocopied image of a page, confirming that she had verified it against the actual document. A highlighted passage read:

“ _ Your Grace. I am seeking your blessing to take for a husband the man you know of. He would humbly take the name of my House, if you would be so merciful to grant us your approval. B. of Tarth _ ”

“She  _ wanted _ to marry,” Mrs Norrey confirmed when they both looked up at her, incredulous. “But Daenerys refused. In a way.” She handed them another page.

“ _ If you should take that man as your husband before the Gods, Her Grace could not stop you. The Kingdom would not recognise the union, however, and no fruit from it could ever inherit your House’s holdings, for it is a man dead you seek to marry. _ ”

History had indeed recorded that she had not married, and had produced no descendents, heir or no. Had she given up on wedding whoever she had mentioned?

“‘ _ The man you know of _ ’? ‘ _ A man dead _ ’?” Brienne puzzled. “Clearly they both knew who they meant, but why not write his name?”

The director and Jaime both looked at her intently, as if they were waiting for her to catch on. She shook her head. “He died!”

“It was quite a vast battlefield. Some of his armour was recovered, but no one was ever able to authenticate a body as his when it was all over. There were plenty of corpses missing limbs. Dragons and wyldfire were involved, or so history recounts, and many had been severely burned.”

While she had never confided her theory in Mrs Norrey, the older lady had detected early on what Brienne thought of the relationship between the Maid and the Lion. They had never discussed it as such, but there had always been an unspoken agreement in their exchanges that this was probably the truth.

Now she was offering a surprisingly tangible proof, or a trail at least, indicating that they might have been right all along.

They stayed quiet for a moment, digesting the ramifications of that discovery.

“So... he would have been on Tarth?” Jaime asked, breaking the silence.

The women looked at him, both with a hopeful smile. “He would have been on Tarth,” they echoed as one.

_ It won’t be be a winter vacation this time either _ , Brienne thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I really hope I'm up to writing _that_ :33


End file.
